


A Charming Introduction

by lea_hazel



Series: Decline and Fall [2]
Category: Seven Kingdoms: The Princess Problem (Visual Novel)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, I'm Going to Hell, Manipulation, Mind Games, Political Alliances, Poor Life Choices, Princes & Princesses, Revaire, Royalty, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-08 12:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13458702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_hazel/pseuds/lea_hazel
Summary: A tale of Princess Verity, the political match she painstakingly arranged for herself, and the unexpected consequences.This is a story about people making bad decisions.





	A Charming Introduction

"Send her in, then," said the King. "Let's see what sort of prize my son managed to net."

Verity caught Gisette's thin, sly smile from the corner of her eye. She disliked being spoken of in third person in her presence as much as the next person. All the same, she straightened her back just a little and waited for the Queen's approving nod before exiting the den to enter the royal library. As the heavy oaken door shut behind her with a sound that seemed to her ominously loud, she could catch just a hint of the conversation in the room she left behind. Not much, not the words, just tones of voices: Jarrod's aggrieved, Gisette's subtly amused, the Queen's as pinched as her pale, narrow face.

With her back to the door, Verity stood about as tall as she possibly could. Not much of a match to the man before her, who was at least as tall as his son and significantly more intimidating for the shrewd glint in his eye, which Jarrod lacked completely. She took a quick look around the room, which seemed more like a sitting room than a library. Two walls were, in fact, mostly covered by tall stacks of shelves, but the books on them were aligned to perfection and looked spotless, and there were no vacancies. No books lying open on the enormous desk that sprawled near the row of windows across from the door, or on the several small, spindly tables that were scattered strategically among the overstuffed armchairs. Like the room she had just left, this one reeked of wealth, but with only the faintest whiff of taste.

Indulging her native curiosity, Verity soon realized, was a grave mistake. While she was so preoccupied the King had been watching her, and when she caught his eyes on her she felt blood flooding up to her face, as though she were a child caught eavesdropping. His eyes pinned her for a long moment while inside her skin the blood was singing in her veins.

"Were you meaning to introduce yourself, perhaps?" said the King.

Acting more out of long-ingrained habit than through sense, she sank into a perfect curtsy. "Princess Verity of Arland, Your Majesty."

"Come here," said the King.

She shuffled up to him silently, struggling to walk with regal grace in her unfamiliar gown. Not that Arland fashions were comfortable, exactly, but Revaire fashions were constricting in an entirely unfamiliar way. Gisette had taken it as a point of pride that her personal seamstress could modify a gown for Verity on short notice, and had written ahead to make certain that her introduction reflected well on the both of them. Not, Verity thought to herself wryly, that the Princess wouldn't take near equal enjoyment in her total humiliation, if she failed to measure up.

Pausing an appropriate distance away, Verity dipped into a second, shallower curtsy. The King took no mind. He closed the distance between them with two steps and, looming over her in a most uncomfortable way, took her by the chin and tipped up her face to examine her. Verity felt almost as though he were trying to look into her soul. She hadn't liked the feeling when the Matchmaker did it during the summit, and she liked it even less now, in the company of this unfriendly man with his intimidating pose and disconcerting gaze.

"Made of rather sterner stuff than Arland princesses normally are," said King Hyperion of Revaire, his face cracking into a small smile. "Still, it will take more than average cunning for you to make a half-decent Crown Princess for Revaire. Which you will, you know, quite soon."

"Yes, Your Majesty," said Verity, and felt a small measure of relief that her voice didn't waver.

"Well," said the King, "blood does breed true, after all. You're not a by-blow, are you, Verity of Arland?"

"No, Your Majesty."

"Do you know how to say anything else?" he asked, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice.

Verity paused just a breath, tilted her head slightly and answered, "Yes, Your Majesty."

His laughter was more like a bark, and it almost startled her out of well-practiced composure. He dropped her chin and turned back to take his seat on a brocaded couch. Verity stood quite still and waited for a cue that she could join him in sitting. Her feet hurt, actually, and she would have liked to be off them sooner rather than later. She had a few words to say about Revaire footwear, too, come to think of it.

"How did you manage to so entrance my son, then, little princess?" asked the King.

"Your Majesty," said Verity, "ours is an arranged match, not a love match."

"Yes, I heard," said Hyperion, waving a dismissive hand. "Still, he would not have offered-- unless you were the one did the offering, and he merely accepted?"

Verity nodded slightly.

The King's face creased, his eyebrows drawing together as he leaned forward to examine her more closely than before. "Then you are even less like an Arland princess than I thought. I expected a meek little church-mouse and it seems I have a serpent in my house."

"Your Majesty?" said Verity by way of a question, casting her eyes downward.

"How did you ensnare my son, Verity?" he asked.

The use of her given name almost flustered her, but she decided that honesty was probably the best policy. "I presented a cogent argument and convinced him that the marriage was in the interests of both kingdoms."

Hyperion raised one eyebrow. " _Cogent_?" he said. "Where did you learn a word like that?"

"The dictionary, Your Majesty," answered Verity, perfectly straight-faced.

He barked out another laugh. "You are unexpectedly entertaining, Princess Verity," he said. "I hope you didn't use that word around my son. It would fluster him. I'm afraid he's as dull-witted as he is vicious."

"Your Majesty," said Verity blandly.

"Let me get a closer look at you," said the King.

What, wondered Verity with a shiver down her spine, had he been doing up until now? She took a few cautious steps forward all the same.

"Revaire fashion suits you," he said, "although I don't like that color."

Her breath arrested briefly. There was no describing how strange it was to receive fashion advice from her future father-in-law, who was also the notorious King of Revaire.

"Pretty enough girl, I suppose," he went on. "That would be why you found him so pliant. You'll find I'm not so susceptible to such paltry charms."

"I suppose it's fortunate for me, Your Majesty," said Verity, "that it's not you I'm trying to charm."

That was reckless. She realized how reckless shortly thereafter, when the King swept up from his seat, took her wrist in his hand and pulled her firmly to him, trapping her folded arm between them. She was close enough to feel the heat radiating off of him, or maybe it was her body that was overheating, and she was only confusing the two. Once again he took her face in his hand and tipped it up to look down into her eyes.

"Underestimate me at your peril, Verity," he said.

"I meant no such thing," said Verity hastily.

She exhaled in relief when he took a step back but it was short-lived, because only a moment later he sat back down, pulling her down after him. Before she knew it she was sitting on his knee, uncomfortably close, her breath coming in shallow and quick. He dropped her wrist and she let it fall limp into her lap, when he reached up to smooth back a lock of hair that had fallen out of her coiffure. His hand moved casually over her face and down her neck before tracing the lace edging of her bodice with one fingertip.

If her head had been on straight, she probably would have quipped about his being not so immune to her charms after all. Perhaps it was for the best that she couldn't get her muddled mind to cooperate. She had the distinct feeling that flirting with Hyperion would be an extremely dangerous hobby to cultivate. All this went through her mind in the time it took him to reach the ivory buttons on her bodice.

Gathering together the absolute last of her wits, Verity managed to clear her throat and say, "Your Majesty, please."

The King of Revaire sighed a long-suffering sigh, as one who is forced to deal with unreasonable people might do. He patted the hand that was cradled in her own lap and said, "Go on, then. Get out of here."

Verity rose under her own power, although she might have wobbled just a little. Dipping into another tiny curtsy, she turned her back and made for the door with as much haste as fashion and dignity could allow. Not until the door to the library was shut behind her did she consider letting out a sigh of relief. Until, that is, she recalled that the den she was entering was still occupied.

Jarrod must have found something else to entertain himself with, for only the Queen and Princess Gisette remained in the room, seated together over a tray of tea. The Queen held a plate with a tiny cake on it, immaculately glazed in pretty pink icing. She looked as though she had no intention of eating it. Verity couldn't even begin to imagine the Queen, cutting such a refined figure as she did, doing something so crude as to bite into a piece of cake, frosted or otherwise.

"Dear Verity," said Gisette, her voice conveying all the warmth that her smile lacked, "there you are at last. I had worried that you might get lost in the palace without a proper tour. Shall I show you to the rooms that will be yours? Please, sit down, won't you?"

"Thank you, Princess," said Verity, inclining her head, "you are too kind."

"Please let's don't stand on such formality," said Gisette with a dangerous smile. "Not if we're going to be sisters. I would insist you call me by my name at all times."

"Gisette," said Verity, pasting on her best smile under the circumstances, "sister. I had hoped you would ask me, but I would not presume."

What might have been a protracted fencing lesson was cut short by the library door slamming open. King Hyperion stormed through the room like a general surveying his troops, stopping just before the opposite door into the corridor to turn and regard his wife with cool, gray eyes.

"Darling, do something about her, would you?" he said, gesturing vaguely at Verity. "Her dress is-- a Crown Princess should have her own seamstress, and do something about--" his next gesture swept her from head to toe-- " _that_."

"Yes, of course, my dear," said the Queen, the endearment falling awkwardly from her thin, pale pink lips. "As you will."

"I'm going riding with Darius," declared the King, "and then I have council meetings and appointments until midnight. Whatever the girls need, you can manage it yourself. Don't trouble me with trifles."

Without another word he left, leaving the door behind him to slowly drift shut.

"You hear that, sister?" said Gisette, sugar-sweet. "You need a seamstress. I'll have Amanda recommend us someone. She knows all the best girls."

"You're too kind, sister," said Verity for, she felt sure, not the last time that day.


End file.
